


Yellow Tulips

by Corvidology



Category: The Alienist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Background Case, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Rare Male Slash Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-23 06:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20004016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidology/pseuds/Corvidology
Summary: Written to fulfill Within_a_dream's exchange requests.A case that takes them undercover to a gay club forces John to deal with unwanted feelings and suppressed memories.





	Yellow Tulips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [within_a_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/gifts).



It was all Sara's fault. He knew he was pouting like a child and tried to shape it more into a scowl. He probably wasn't fooling anyone but at least it made him feel the tiniest bit better about the situation. 

At least he'd stood his ground on wanting to wear clothes from his own wardrobe, not that it was any great comfort as Sara quickly acquiesced, obviously finding his regular clothing completely appropriate. She'd picked out his grey houndstooth suit but discarded the matching waistcoat in favor of his wine brocade with a matching cravat secured with a garish glass tie pin most certainly not his own, strongly reminiscent of a fortune teller's crystal ball. It was an outfit far too dandified for his liking but then that was the point. 

He was rebuffing her attempts to replace his usual macassar hair oil with something more redolent of roses when Laszlo finally joined them in the parlor. 

He hadn't had the chance before to see what costume Sara had decided on for Laszlo but he was certain none of it had ever seen the inside of Laszlo's rooms before. His dark green suit with a matching silk waistcoat in a modern single breasted cut instead of his usual double-breasted frockcoat was a revelation, showing off Laszlo's physique to its greatest advantage. She'd even changed out his boots. Most of the time it was easy to forget they were contemporaries when he always felt like such a schoolboy in Laszlo's presence, his old-fashioned taste in clothing always adding to that sense. His fingers itched to reach out and touch Laszlo's waistcoat... it was an exquisite piece of tailoring and he wanted to check the quality. 

"What happened to your hair, Laszlo?" 

"Miss Howard." 

Of course _Miss Howard._ Laszlo's hair was shorter than usual, shorn of the faint curls at the nape of his neck he'd always longed to run his fingers through. As he thought it, lacking any sense of decorum or propriety Sara crossed from him to Laszlo to run her hand through his hair, smoothing it back into place with a little of the rose oil from the bottle she still held. He'd known Laszlo for so much longer than she had and yet wouldn't have dared to do so himself.

He'd long tried to smother his unnatural feelings towards Laszlo and the old Laszlo, the untouchable unattainable apparently unfeeling man he was before the Beecham case and Mary's tragic death, had made it far easier to endure than it was now. The 'new' Laszlo, one given to showing at least a glimpse of finer feelings now and again, was far more of a temptation if still equally untouchable. 

"John?"

Sara was looking bemused and irritated at the same time, an expression often on her face when looking at him. He'd obviously missed a question. 

He tried to convey grim fortitude. "I'm sorry, Sara, I was bracing myself for what lies ahead." 

Now she just looked amused. If it wasn't impossible to imagine her thinking such a thing, he would suspect she knew he dreaded accidentally revealing the truth to Laszlo more than anything else that might transpire that evening. 

"I said are you sure you don't want the rose oil?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Thanks to you, Laszlo is wearing enough for both of us." He restrained himself from stating how much he preferred Laszlo's usual unadulterated scent. Unadulterated Laszlo... He wanted... this over with. "We should be on our way."

_____

Roosevelt had been the one who'd asked them to investigate the murders of several invert couples whose mutilated bodies had been abandoned at garbage dumps around the city. To the rest of the police force it had been little more than a sick joke, someone taking out the garbage for them, but Roosevelt was a forward thinker, one who felt that despite their mental illness inverts still deserved protection under the law, even if their activities were illegal. Laszlo objected to Roosevelt's outdated use of 'invert' but being a forward thinking group themselves, they had agreed to help and he was careful as always to hide his personal feelings on the subject. 

As a schoolboy, he hadn't really given it a second thought, many of his peers engaged in such acts and yet went on to be respectable married men but for him such base desires had persisted. He'd hoped at some point a cure might be found for his mental illness – the fact that he was also attracted to women still gave him hope – but in the meantime alcohol had to suffice, helping bury his unnatural feelings deep inside.

Their investigations into the lives of the ten murder victims discovered so far had been difficult and delicate, not wanting to hurt the feelings of their family and friends – four of the men were even married – anymore than their deaths already had. They'd informed all of them that they had no idea why their loved ones had been targeted and their loved ones, it was obvious in most cases, had gratefully accepted the lie. All of the men were of good families and that's what had first turned their attention to the private clubs around the city that catered exclusively to homosexuals of a higher social status. 

He'd been stunned to find out the police were well aware of these clubs but still stayed clear because of the potential danger of arresting someone of influence. No, the police stuck to occasionally rousting places like Paresis Hall to demonstrate their willingness to keep the streets clean, particularly when bribe money was running low. With this new found knowledge, he was ashamed of how anxious he was to see the inside of one of these clubs. 

It was Lucius who'd first spotted the remains of boutonnières on four of the victims. It wasn't surprising, given how many times each victim had been stabbed in the chest and genitals that no one had paid any attention to the relics of lavender and yellow tulips on the bodies, but Lucius had examined the bodies more closely than the coroner, pins still in their jacket lapels confirming his theory. He'd never been so repelled by yellow tulips before, their signifying hopeless love something he had far too much experience with. Lavender and yellow tulips were the symbol for one club in particular, The Janus Club, an appropriate symbol for men who had to maintain two different faces, a public and a private one.

_____

He glanced down to where Sara was currently pinning a yellow tulip and a lavender spray to his jacket lapel, having already done the same to Laszlo. 

It was Sara who had volunteered him as bait for the murderer – she obviously cared for him a great deal – and originally his companion for the evening was to be Marcus as an armed policeman's presence seemed like a good idea. That had been bad enough but then Laszlo had insisted on going in Marcus' place, certain he would be better at deducing who the murderer might be and that as the attacks had obviously happened outside the club, the Issacsons would follow them at a discreet distance once they left it. He brought his own pistol anyway, determined to do his best to protect Laszlo from anything that might go wrong. 

_____

He'd had no idea how badly things might really go. They'd been in The Janus Club for all of twenty minutes, just long enough to drop off their overcoats at the hatcheck and secure a martini, when another couple had approached them and asked to join them at their table. Of course, Laszlo had said yes. They introduced themselves as Robert and Daniel, no last names, and he and Laszlo had introduced themselves as John and Peter. He was sure everyone would assume 'John' was an alias anyway. They were immaculately dressed and very personable but there was something about Robert, the younger taller one that raised the hackles on the back of his neck. It wasn't so much that he kept smiling at him and ignoring Laszlo, he understood his own attractiveness, but there was something predatory about his smile that didn't reach Robert's eyes and the cold calculation in them. Perhaps he'd already discovered the killer. 

Robert put his hand over his and it took a lot of effort not to snatch it back as Robert petted the back of it. "The club can be a little off-putting for newcomers. At first you'll be uncomfortable at the size of it." The petting had turned into stroking. "But you'll easily take it all in and eventually be dying for it." 

Robert's phrasing was odd—

_room spinning... Hands all over his naked flesh, fondling him, holding him down... An enormous thrusting cock in his ravaged asshole... Robert! "You can take it all, you're dying for it... Knew you were a bum-boy soon as I saw you, John."_

He dragged Robert to his feet, punching him hard enough to knock him down. 

Bouncers descended upon him, restraining him as Robert slowly stood up, swiping at his split bleeding lip, still looking far too smug for his liking but he and Laszlo were out on the sidewalk with their overcoats handed to them before he could hit him again.

"What on earth were you thinking, John? Or were you even thinking at all? I know how objectionable you find homosexuals but surely you could have at least endured his touching your hand without hitting him?"

Events at Paresis Hall were flooding back, every degrading act crystal clear. That lowlifes like Ellison and Robert could recognize his perversity— he staggered, grabbing the wall for support, vomiting the little bit of dinner he'd managed to eat earlier. 

"Are you drunk?" Laszlo said it like a statement of fact rather than a question as he kept retching with nothing left in his stomach to void. 

Laszlo grabbed his arm and led him around the corner to where the others were waiting. The way he was staggering was just reinforcing Laszlo's erroneous conclusions but he was glad Laszlo was putting it all down to his being a useless drunk. 

Still, Laszlo told the others someone had recognized him and then had them expelled from the club, not wanting to be a case study for the notorious alienist. Laszlo had stepped up into the Isaacsons' carriage and departed. 

That left him alone with Sara, whose too shrewd eyes took in his sorry condition and offered him a ride home in her carriage. She spoke to the driver and then he'd awkwardly climbed in after she ignored his protests that he should aid her in first. She'd merely raised vexed eyebrows at him and done as she'd pleased, as usual. 

"What has upset you so badly?"

He couldn't tell the truth but a half-truth might suffice. "A man caressed my hand and I punched him. That's why we were really forced to leave."

Sara took his hand and while he initially flinched he let her. "Oh, John, you really are a terrible mess aren't you?"

"What do you mean? Any man would object violently to such liberties."

"No, I don't believe they would, not every man at least but certainly one with something to hide."

How could she possibly know what had transpired at Paresis Hall? He'd only just remembered himself despite how abused he'd felt after waking up on Laszlo's couch. 

"There's no need to be ashamed."

What did such a protected young woman understand about such things?

"...At least not with me." She gripped his hand tighter. "There's a reason beyond my ambitions why I turned down your proposal or rather your proposal to propose."

She knew. He didn't know how she could, but she knew his shame. "Please, Sara, please understand I don't want to discuss this." He tried to free his hand but she held on even tighter, crushing it between her own. 

"I fear I must make my own confession in order to put you at ease, something I've never told anyone else."

He stilled under her touch, powerless to resist the vulnerability in her voice. 

"... Have you ever heard the term 'bisexual'?"

"No."

"I first ran across it in Charles Gilbert Chaddock's translation of Kraft-Ebing's _Psychopathia Sexualis_. It is a term to describe a person who is sexually attracted to both men and women."

Well, now he had a term for his deviancy beyond homosexual at least but it still didn't fix his depravity. 

"It might surprise you to hear I consider 'bisexual' an apt description of myself."

"Sara?" He couldn't bear to think that the magnificent Sara Howard might live in the same despair he did. 

"... and of you." She had taking to petting his hand but this time he found it reassuring. 

A possible light appeared on the horizon, a way out for both of them. "Marry me, Sara. I love you and believe you're at the least very fond of me and together we will overcome our perversion."

She withdrew her hands, settling them firmly in her lap, an all too familiar look of veiled contempt at the stupidity of men settling on her face. 

"Why would I wish to change the way god made me?"

"Sara!" He didn't think he could be scandalized anymore, but she'd managed it.

"It's really rather simple. We are both attracted to men and women."

"Admittedly, I may notice an attractive man... aesthetically but I only bed women."

She raised an eyebrow at him. 

"...Since my school days, when many of the boys—" 

"Be that as it will. As I started to say before you interrupted me, we're both attracted to men and women, me somewhat more to women and you almost entirely to Laszlo."

How could she possibly know that? He'd always been so guarded around Laszlo. His level of desperation rose. "But I love you, Sara. You must believe in the sincerity of my affection."

"I do." She cupped his face but pulled back as he started to lean in. "But there are many different kinds of love. We do love each other but you are _in_ love with Laszlo." She turned fully in the seat to face him. "If I hadn't figured it out long ago, I might have eventually accepted your offer of marriage after further pursuing my ambitions. As it is, I will not marry someone who will always be pining for another."

The carriage came to a stop. He hadn't been paying a blind bit of attention to where they'd been heading but they were now outside Laszlo's house. 

"This is your stop, John."

He would get out of the carriage and wait until she'd left before—

"I'll stay here until you're inside, just in case Laszlo's not home."

On top of everything else, she was a mind reader as well. 

Never had he wished harder for someone to not be home and it looked like his wish had been granted, Laszlo off somewhere else still working with the Isaacsons. He was halfway back down the stairs when he heard the front door open behind him. 

"John?"

He would have kept moving but with a rather wicked smile from her, Sara's carriage pulled away. 

He headed slowly back towards Laszlo, who was still wearing most of the costume Sara had provided him, minus his jacket and boots. 

He expected Laszlo to tell him to 'go home and sleep it off' but instead he stepped back, allowing him to enter the house. 

"Laszlo, I—"

"Let me take your coat."

Blast the man. He'd hoped to mutter an apology and turn around and leave but obviously Laszlo had other ideas. 

"I suspect you are in need of a glass of water." 

He trailed along behind him to the kitchen, unable to stop himself from admiring how the closer modern cut of Laszlo's pants flattered his ass and legs. 

He filled a glass with water, swilled it around his mouth before spitting it out and then drunk a couple of more glasses. After he filled up the glass for a third time, Laszlo led him out to his dining table, where the scattered files and sketches made it clear he'd been looking at the case details again since he'd got home. He took a seat and gestured for him to do likewise. 

Laszlo leaned into him, sniffing him. "I was in error earlier. You have only had the couple of sips of martini I witnessed. Am I correct?"

He should never have come here. Sara or no, he should have just walked away instead of knocking on Laszlo's door. You couldn't give Laszlo too much time to think about something and then test his hypothesis. 

"You're correct, as always, Laszlo. I must be getting sick with something." He stood up. "I should leave before you catch it."

"Sit down."

He sat down. 

"So what sort of illness causes you to strike a man who dared to touch your hand when he believed, under the circumstances, you to be of a similar persuasion? You should not have agreed to accompany me if you were not prepared to endure that at least."

He was tired of it all, too tired to fend off Laszlo at his most inquisitive. He'd never told him of his true nature, luckily there'd been no need to, but now... He had no fear Laszlo would judge him but he would pity him which was far worse. He might even want to treat his mental disorder, like he hadn't tried to change his own nature for years. 

"...Paresis Hall..." He dropped his head into his hands, unable to witness Laszlo's reaction. 

"What about it? Was Robert one of their clientele? I know how strongly you feel about how Joseph and his friends were treated. Is that why you hit him?"

The sympathy in Laszlo's voice was clear. All he had to do was say yes and they could put this behind them. "No."

"Then why?"

"...That night Stevie found me wandering in the alley... You assumed I was drunk... but I'd been drugged."

"And Robert drugged you?"

"No, that was Ellison. Robert... assaulted me along with several others."

"And I put your condition down to drunken carousing. You should have said something. The Isaacsons and I could have patched you up."

He laughed bitterly. "I didn't remember at the time, whether due to the drugs or not, I don't know."

"But when you saw Robert, you remembered."

"... Not exactly. He looked familiar but what he said..." 

"It was rather strangely worded at that— Oh, no John! When you said they assaulted you—"

"Yes, Laszlo... If I had remembered the particulars at the time I still wouldn't have told you." He forced himself to face Laszlo who radiated nothing but concern. "I would have done anything I could to avoid you learning of my deviancy."

"You were raped, that says nothing about your character and everything about theirs." Laszlo reached out to him but he flinched backwards, dropping his arms from the table to make sure he stayed out of reach. "This makes you no less a man. I know how much you despise homosexuals, having heard you rail against them many times—"

"I am one." He forced himself to sit straighter in his chair, to face this head on. "I am a homosexual. Or rather, as was explained to me today, a bisexual. That's what they saw in me and that's why it happened."

"You cannot honestly believe that it is your fault you were raped?"

"It's not... rape when I brought it on myself." 

"Gott im Himmel!" Laszlo stood up so fast he toppled his chair in the process. "What they did to you was abominable and not at all your fault!"

He stood more slowly. "Do you know why my... condition when I woke up on your couch that morning didn't make me suspect anything untoward? Do you? Because I have paid women before to... fuck me with a dildo. That's what I assumed had happened to me, that the woman had been overly enthusiastic, as I couldn't remember anything." He walked out into the hallway all too aware Laszlo was trailing along behind him. "Good night, Laszlo. I don't wish to ever speak of this again. I hope we can still be friends despite what you now know of my true nature."

"... And if I were raped, would you consider that justified?"

"Just let it go, please."

"I find I cannot. You see, I too am a homosexual, so why should I not expect the same type of treatment you received?"

"It's too late for you to play your mind games with me. You were desperately in love with Mary, god rest her soul."

"I cannot deny it and would not if I could but she was the exception. I fell in love with who she was, so much so that my usual inclination did not matter."

He sat down heavily on the stairs, Laszlo sitting down beside him. 

Laszlo was a homosexual? Laszlo was a homosexual. He clamped down hard on the part of him that was suddenly filled with hope where he'd had none before. After all, Laszlo had always treated him with mild amusement at best and scorn at worst. Just because he was admitting to being attracted to men didn't mean—

"Not that I have ever acted on my impulses. I am sure you will be amused to hear that I am still a virgin."

Then Laszlo's soul was still clean. "Your self-control is commendable. I think you might yet be forgiven for merely having thought about it."

"Oh, John, but I think about it all the time."

"You're an alienist–"

"I am also a man with a man's usual urges and fantasies. Just because I have never had sex with anyone else does not mean I have a study full of unicorns."

How could he make Lazlo understand? "I'm a degenerate who could never give up sex."

"...I knew since childhood what my inclinations were but like you obviously still do, believed I was a deviant and hoped my crushes on other boys would dissipate as I grew older and spent more time in the presence of women... I had not counted on falling irrevocably in love for the first time with a fellow university student. He was not homosexual and our friendship would have ceased immediately if he had known of my true nature. Even if he had been a homosexual, he would never have been interested in me." He thought Laszlo unaware that he was rubbing at his bad arm. "So I sublimated my feelings into my studies. Until I admitted to myself how I felt about Mary, I assumed I would die a virgin."

Roosevelt, it had to be Roosevelt, a man truly worthy of Laszlo's admiration. 

"...And then, tonight, he told me he was bisexual, which I had never once suspected."

He turned to stare at Laszlo, reading only truth in his eyes. "You're in love with me? But you've always treated me—"

"For which I am very sorry. It was a form of self-preservation, to keep you at a distance. I know you do not feel the same but I had to tell you, so you know I will never judge or pity you."

He pulled Laszlo to him, across the multiple years that had separated them and kissed him, little more than a brief pressure to his lips before letting him go. 

Laszlo ran his fingers across his lips. "What was that for?"

"Because I've loved you for over 20 years."

"Upstairs, now!" Laszlo stood and started to climb the stairs. 

"Why?" He stood up but didn't move otherwise. 

Laszlo looked back over his shoulder at him. "Do not be dense, John."

He still didn't move.

Laszlo sighed heavily. "Because the hallway is illuminated, the front door has glass in it and I too have waited 20 years."

Laszlo kept climbing and he was fast on his heels. 

When he reached the landing, Laszlo was standing in his open bedroom door waiting for him. As he slowly approached him, he struggled to get a grip on his passions. Laszlo was inexperienced and he had to be gentle with him. 

Laszlo grabbed the front of his shirt, dragging him through the doorway, slamming the door shut behind him and backing him up against it. What Laszlo's kiss lacked in finesse it gained in intensity, biting at his lips and French kissing him as he bent his head. Laszlo's hand ran down his shirt, ripping the buttons open, nipping and biting at his chest as his hand dropped further to work at his trouser buttons, pushing aside his linen to take him hot and hard in hand. 

He gasped and Laszlo's hand froze. "John?"

"If you stop now, Laszlo, I swear I'll—"

Laszlo kissed him again, his grip tightening and pulling, too hard, too fast, too dry, and too perfect. His hand slid over the head, pushing back his foreskin, making use of his own lubrication as he sped up. 

He wanted to hold on, to prolong the pleasure but when Laszlo whispered against his lips "I cannot wait to feel this inside me" he spent harder than he had in his entire life. 

As he leant heavily against the door, panting, Laszlo slowly licked his fingers clean and he thought he might die happy right then. 

"Yours tastes different than mine." Analytical Laszlo was back, despite the way his own cock was obscenely pushing against his trouser buttons. "I wonder if all men taste—"

"You're never going to find out." 

He pushed Laszlo backwards until his knees buckled against the side of the bed and he sat, dropping to his knees in front of him, working feverishly at undoing his trousers, pausing only briefly to admire the cock he'd fantasized about for so long before swallowing it down, moving his hands to press down on Laszlo's hips as he instinctively thrust upwards. He loved the weight of him on his tongue as he struggled to take him deeper, Laszlo's scent surrounding him, Laszlo reduced to a babble of incomprehensible German, intoxicating. He moved his hands, pulling at Laszlo's hips, encouraging him to thrust as he relaxed his throat, taking him deeper, wishing he could take him deeper still. Laszlo's attempts to push him back thwarted, he spent in his mouth as he pulled back only enough to make sure he could taste him as he did. 

His head resting on Laszlo's thigh as he sprawled backwards on the bed, he was reluctant to move, let alone leave Laszlo's house now they had admitted their feelings to each other, but those feelings changed nothing about the world they lived in, just made it an even more dangerous place. He stood up slowly, pushing on the bed for leverage, examining his damaged clothing, grateful his overcoat would conceal it until he could get home and clean himself up. 

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving, as I must."

"But you do not have to go anywhere. Cyrus and Stevie are staying with Miss Crawford in Philadelphia all week. We are quite alone and will remain so until they return." Laszlo stood up and started to remove his remaining clothes. "I have longed to feel your naked skin against mine, John."

Still he hesitated. He was willing to risk his own reputation but not Laszlo's. 

"We are both tired from a long and trying day but if you stay, I have olive oil in my dresser and tomorrow would very much like to try penetration. I understand direct stimulation of the prostate gland is most pleasurable."

"It is... When I paid women to use a dildo on me I always imagined it was your cock." 

Reputation be damned. He had them both stripped naked in record time. 

Merely being curled up naked with the extraordinary man he loved and who amazingly loved him in return, was an incredible new experience, one of many still to be had. For the first time since he'd been old enough to first feel sexual attraction, he was at peace with himself.


End file.
